Chapter 2 - The Contract of Protection
By midnight, the grand hall had been cleared of guests. Rain had begun to fall again over Manhattan, tapping a gentle, rhythmic pattern against the high French windows of Damiano’s private third-floor study.
A warm fire crackled in the stone fireplace. Maya was fast asleep on a plush leather sofa, wrapped in a thick cashmere blanket, her thumb resting softly against her lips.
In the armchair across from the desk sat Elena, holding a warm cup of chamomile tea that Rafael had brought her. Her hands still shook slightly, her eyes wide as she looked at Damiano sitting behind his heavy mahogany desk.
"I don't understand, Don Verrone," Elena whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire. "Why didn't you throw us out? Why are you doing this?"
Damiano rested his elbows on the desk, his hands clasped. He stared at the firelight reflecting off the dark wood.
"Three years ago, Elena," Damiano spoke softly, "I lost my wife, Clara. She was seven months pregnant with our daughter. I spent three years believing that my life was meant to be nothing more than blood, territory, and silence. But tonight, your daughter walked up to me in front of two hundred men who want me dead, and asked me for help."
He looked directly at Elena. "I am going to Maya’s school tomorrow."
Elena gasped. "Don Verrone... you can't! Do you know who goes to that private academy? The children of politicians, judges... and rival families! Don Silvio Marchetti’s grandson attends the same school! If Silvio sees you there playing father to my daughter, he will use it against you! He will think you've gone soft!"
"Let him think whatever he pleases," Damiano said coldly. "Silvio Marchetti is a dog who barks behind his bodyguards. But there is another matter we need to discuss, Elena."
He pulled a heavy beige file folder from his desk drawer and opened it. Inside were photographs, financial records, and medical reports.
Elena’s face went completely pale. "What... what is that?"
"It’s your file, Elena," Damiano said. "Or should I call you Elena Castri? The youngest daughter of Don Emilio Castri?"
Elena dropped her teacup onto the tray, her breath catching in her throat. She looked at him with sheer panic.
"I ran away six years ago!" Elena sobbed quietly, burying her face in her hands. "My father tried to force me to marry Silvio Marchetti’s violent eldest son, Lorenzo! When I found out I was pregnant with Maya, I fled Chicago and changed my name! I came to New York, took a job as a anonymous housekeeper, and raised my daughter in secret! If my father or the Marchettis find out Maya is a Castri heir, they will take her from me or use her as a pawn in their war!"
Damiano stood up from his desk and walked over to the fire, looking down at the sleeping six-year-old girl.
"They won't take her," Damiano said, his voice flat, absolute, and devoid of doubt. "Because starting tomorrow morning, Maya is no longer just a housekeeper's daughter. She is under the personal protection of the Verrone family."
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"What are you saying?" Elena whispered.
Damiano turned to face her, his eyes cold and resolved. "I am saying, Elena, that tomorrow morning I will walk into that school as Maya's father. And if anyone in this city tries to touch either of you, they will have to burn down the entire Verrone empire to get to you."
